


The Shake Up

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Angst, Families of Choice, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Ireland, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam waits two months for the time to be right - but when Michael and Fiona don't make contact, he charters a plane.</p><p>To France.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shake Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scifishipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifishipper/gifts).



> Written for Scifishipper as a Yuletide Treat in '13!

He waited two months for the time to be right, but there was no magic signal from Michael and Fiona, and no further word from their newly-made family. 

“Something doesn’t smell right,” Sam told Jesse as they sat at Carlito’s Bar, enjoying the spoils collected from their formerly-forlorn client.

Jesse looked offended. “Yeah, well , man, you try sitting in a car in this kinda heat and not have a deodorant fail.”

“No,” Sam says, leaning against the bartop and staring back over his shoulder at Jesse's new Lexus. “Whatever’s up with Mike and Fi they wouldn't let me wait this long. They would’ve called me by now.”

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “Maybe they’re still unpacking? Fi’s got a lot of shoes.”

Sam sucked on his teeth. “No, man, it’s worse – it’s gotta be worse.” He pushed away from the bar. “I’m gonna start making calls.”

“Hey, woah,” Jesse said. “Maybe they don’t want to be found.”

“That’s the point, brother,” observed Sam. “They’d never hide from me.”

“Are you sure you’re not having a little ‘episode’ after your breakup with Elsa?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Whatever I told you the truth: they’d never hide from me. I've gotta find them before they get themselves in even deeper sneakers.”

Jesse watched Sam go, but as the older man retreated he asked out loud, “what am I, chopped liver?!”

*** 

Sam wasted four weeks in France before figuring out that they’d gone to Ireland, and by the time he stood on Mike and Fi’s doorstep he had quite a bone to pick with the two of them. Because Sam was a calm, collected, rational man, he managed to wait the requisite ten minutes while Mike checked the door, with gun likely in hand, before opening it.

“County Freakin' Cork. You have to be crazy,” Sam declared.

“It’s nice to see you too, Sam,” Michael deadpanned.

“Of all of the places on God’s green earth, the two of you turned up in the one place where you’re both wanted by the Feds?” Sam pushed his way into the house. “Are you out of your damn mind, Mikey?!”

“I’m not going to defend myself until I finish my morning yogurt,” Michael declared, heading to the kitchen. Fiona was there, and she stood at the back window, listening to what Sam soon figured out was Charlie kicking around a soccer ball with a bunch of neighborhood kids.

When Sam approached, Fi drew her weapon.

“Easy, Tinkerbelle.”

“Sam?!” Fiona gaped at him. To both men's surprise she raced up and threw her arms around his neck. “How did you find us?”

He shrugged. “I know a guy who knows the guy who sold you this house.”

“Of course you do,” Fiona grumbled. She turned away and slumped over to the table, then started drinking a lukewarm cup of coffee. 

“So…” Sam cast about awkwardly for discussion material. “How’s semi-married life treating you guys?”

Fiona raised an eyebrow and said, “Michael went fishing yesterday. And the day before that.”

He gave Fiona a lame smile. “There isn’t that much to do here – but we do ride horses,” he appended.

“But not too quickly,” she added, rolling her eyes. “It might scare Charlie.”

Sam sensed a little undercurrent of hostility and laughed nervously. “So uh…should I call you McBride?”

Michael grinned, gave him an Irish accent. “The name’s O’Mally. I work as a mechanic in Ballilee. This is my lady, Moira.” 

Fiona tipped the mug in his direction. 

Michael deposited his empty yogurt in the trash, moving toward the back door. “I’m going to check on the boys.”

Fiona watched him leave, then stood with a resounding bang, crossed the room, and dumped the rest of her coffee into the sink. 

“Problems in paradise?” wondered Sam.

She mumbled a curse under her breath. “I have everything I wanted. He’s not working for the CIA anymore – we’re safe. We have a family and a house…” She leaned against the sink, turned her eyes heavenward, and huffed a breath. “But it’s like living in a bloody Leave it to Beaver re-run.”

“Hey, at least he's giving it a shot." She glared holes in his head. "You’re the only chick I know who’d miss the danger,” Sam replied, eyebrows wiggling.

She picked up and pitched a sponge at him. "Well, I will admit I missed this, Sam.”

“What, trying to hit me with stuff?”

“No, the talking,” she admitted. She settled down beside him. “You were the best friend I ever had.”

“In Miami?”

“Ever.” She leaned against his shoulder.

Sam winced. “Fi…”

That was when Michael walked in with Charlie. He took a single look at the coy pose they'd created and his eyes glinted darkly. “Sam, can you watch Charlie for awhile? Fiona and I have to talk.”

Sam nodded. “Anything, Mikey.” Soon he was too busy being smothered by the warm, hugging arms of a tiny boy with Nate Westen’s eyes to do much of anything else.

*** 

He and Charlie played cards, ran around the back yard, and watched a little TV before Mike and Fiona emerged from the bedroom. He noticed their drawn faces as they made dinner for the child, and the silence that filled the room afterward - not even his best wisecrack could penetrate the gloom. Charlie ended up going to bed early, and Sam was the one who read him a little Grimm’s Fairytales before retiring to the living room.

“That kid’s a treasure,” he told Mike and Fi once it was over.

“He’s adorable,” agreed Fiona.

“One of the best thing to happen to me,” Michael said.

“So Sam,” Fiona asked. “why are you here?”

“Because I missed you both.” The honesty was warm, strong, real. “And I don’t want to lose either of you again.”

“That’s why Sam was chewing me out this morning for moving to Ireland without his permission.” Michael deadpanned.

“Do you mind if I join him?” Fiona asked.

Michael sighed. “We’ve been through this, Fi…”

“I wanted to move to France,” She drawled. “The culture alone would be helpful to that child…”

“Charlie doesn’t speak French, Fi.”

“So? He would become bilingual quickly enough.”

“But not before he blew our cover,” Michael pointed out. “Ireland’s closer to family, it’s better for him, the schools are great…”

“…And there’s nothing but cheese and cows for miles!” Fiona spat out. Both men went still. “You both forget that I grew up here, and that I left it for bloomin’ reason!”

Silence choked the world, the atmosphere. “Do you wish it was Paris?” Michael wondered.

Fiona gave a small, grim nod. “I feel like I’ve surrendered to it. To Sunday church and afternoon tea with the vicar and the smell of linen,” she admitted, then choked back a watery laugh. “I feel as alive as one of those bodies in the Granary Graveyard!

“Hey…” Sam said, reaching for her. “C’mere.” To Sam’s surprise, Michael followed, wrapped his free arm around her. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m so mad,” she said, reaching back, kissing Michael’s cheek. “I should be happy, but I want…”

“Us,” Sam said suddenly. “You want us.”

There wasn’t even a discussion needed.

Just a series of grave looks, a thoughtful smile, and a walk to the bedroom.

***

The breeze was balmy, the skies were blue, and they were a million miles from the frolicksome playground of Miami, but somehow it just fit.

“Well. That was nice.”

Michael opened a single eye and glances sideways at Sam. He didn’t know why he agreed to this foolishness, but he wasn’t going to disagree with Sam’s analysis. Still. “You have all of the blankets.”

Sam glanced up from his prime position – face-down in Fiona’s cleavage. “Damn. He really is a romantic.”

“You haven’t heard him recite the Constitution,” Fiona yawned. “On his head, while Uncle John visits my fanny.”

“…That sounds really gross.” Sam’s eyebrow went up. “Wait, is it gross?”

“Please don’t ask her any questions,” Michael groaned. “Not now.” 

Sam and Fi locked eyes. “I think he needs another natural painkiller.”

“Oooh, Sam,” Fiona drawled. “I don’t know if he can handle your big needle.” Which she promptly grabbed hard enough to make Sam growl and nuzzle her cheek.

Michael cracked open an eye. The two of them were watching him with hope in their expressions, and Mike’s words came forth reluctantly. “I’ll kiss the first person who stops making corny puns.”

“You have no sense of humor, Mikey,” Sam observed, as Fi leaned in for the kill.

They’d be all right now. 

They’d be all right, as long as they had each other.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **Burn Notice** , all of whom are the property of the **USA Network**. No money was gained from the writing of this fanfiction and all are used under the strictures of of the Berne Convention.


End file.
